Quantum Mysteries
by Magic Maryse
Summary: Being delcared dead and able to travel through time and space, the Luteces seem to have unlimited possibilities. What they didn't take into account, however, is that their latest activites have gained some unwanted attention. When Robert vanishes during their 123rd try and Rosalind finds herself unable to use her abilities, she's forced to join Booker on his dangerous mission.
1. Chapter 1

This thing has been on my mind for some time now and I finally found the time to write it all down. I have not found any fanfictions that are similar to what I have in mind but I hope you like what I did here.

This is kind of an experiment and you will find some similarities between my story and the Bioshock:Infinite game, other parts will completely be made up. I don't want to say too much about the content and let you enjoy reading! ;)

Maybe you could leave behind a review to let me know what you guys think about the first chapter.

* * *

The small wooden boat they were sitting in, did not really offer any resistance against the strong waves of the ocean and Booker had a hard time trying not to fall overboard. He silently cursed himself for agreeing to accompany the twins right away instead of waiting for the storm to blow over but he didn't really have much of a choice.

"Are you going to just sit there?" The man asked his twin who hadn't said a word ever since they had left the harbor.

"As compared to what? Standing?" The woman replied, clearly not too pleased about the situation herself.

Booker couldn't blame her though, the rain was pouring from the sky and combined with the force of the cold wind it left his whole body shivering. At least, the other two had the comfort of wearing yellow rain coats but Booker himself had merely put on a shirt, not expecting the weather to be this bad.

"Not standing. Rowing."

"Rowing?" The female echoed. "I hadn't planned on it."

"So you expect me to shoulder the burden?" The man replied while continuing with the rowing.

The female turned around, handing Booker a small box with his initials on it.

"What's this?", he asked, looking down at the object in his hands, but neither of them paid him any attention.

Instead, the woman turned back to face her brother again. "No. But I do expect you to do all the rowing."

"And why is that?"

"Coming here was your idea."

"My idea?" The brother exclaimed.

If Booker hadn't known that they were brother and sister, he would have mistaken them for a married couple. Though that idea seemed awfully wrong, considering they looked very much the same.

"I've made it very clear that I don't believe in the exercise." The woman stated.

"The rowing?"

"No", she replied. "I imagine that's wonderful exercise."

"Then what?"

The distant light of a lighthouse was coming into view, though Booker could hardly make out anything in this damned storm that was getting worse by the minute.

"The entire thought experiment."

"Excuse me," Booker interrupted them. "How much longer?"

This entire affair was starting to annoy him and he desperately wanted to get somewhere warmer and drier. Their conversation and apparent decision to ignore him didn't make things easier for his already tensed nerves.

"One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail," the man said, completely ignoring Booker's question – again.

Booker clenched his jaw and refrained from shouting at them to finally tell him what was going on. He was about to open the little box in his hands when, all of a sudden, he was thrown onto his side and a wall of water hit him in the face, taking away his breath.

 _What the hell?_ He managed to sit up, his hands gripping the boat's side.

The wind had increased in force, the waves towered over them, threatening to drown them all and Booker realized that they would not make it to the lighthouse safely. _Not in this nutshell,_ he thought.

"Rosalind?" He heard the other man shout and turned his head. "Rosalind!"

He sounded frantic and not at all like the collected weird guy that had picked him up from his office earlier that day. Next, Booker realized that the other one was missing but before he could get up properly to look for her, another big wave hit the boat and finally knocked him off his feet and into the water.

The ocean around him was icy, knocking the air out of his lungs and Booker desperately wanted to get back to the surface, needing to breathe. Kicking and turning, he tried to orientate himself but all he was able to see was darkness – and a flash of red and yellow. Was it beneath him? Or above? Booker couldn't tell but he didn't think twice and went after it. Getting closer to the figure, he recognized the female twin floating unconsciously in the dark water. He grabbed her by the waist, dragging her in the opposite direction in hope that this was where the surface would be as his vision was getting blurry from the lack of oxygen. Breathe! He needed to breathe again!

Booker burst through the surface and gasped for air, the unconscious woman in his right arm. He needed to get them both to the lighthouse but the rain and the waves made it impossible for him to even see the light anymore. _Damnit!_ He swore. If he moved them in the wrong direction, they would both drown from either exhaustion or the cold, however, if he didn't move at all, they would both drown anyway.

Another curse and a few mental battles later, Booker decided to try and swim left as this was where he had last seen the light – slightly to his left – and prayed for it to be the right choice.

What seemed like an eternity later, Booker felt a wave of relief wash over him when he saw the golden light of the lighthouse less than a hundred meters away from his current position. His arms and legs were starting to get numb and his muscles ached but he paid it no attention, desperately trying to get to the safety of the shore. The woman, Rosalind, was heavy in his grip and slowed down his movements immensely but he got them there, _finally_.

With a groan, he heaved her onto the lower parts of the rocks and let himself fall down next to her. She was impossibly pale and motionless and for a moment, Booker was afraid that she was actually dead but he could feel her pulse beneath his trembling fingers and let out a sigh of relief.

Where the hell was the other one? Booker had been so engaged in getting them somewhere safe that he had completely forgotten about the other twin who was now nowhere to be seen.

 _Perhaps he is inside,_ he thought and bent over the unconscious female to carry her to the entrance of the building. At least he hoped that the man had made it this far because by now, there was nothing Booker could have done to save him and he sure as hell didn't want to risk his own life by throwing himself out there again.

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs, the weight of the woman in his numb arms and his wet clothes making it difficult for Booker to walk. He breathed heavily as he kicked his foot against the door only to find it unlocked, but Booker was too exhausted to question that right now. All he wanted was to get out of his clothes and take a long, nice nap.

The door behind him fell shut and the much welcomed warmth inside embraced his trembling body.

"Hello?" He asked hoarsely but was only greeted by silence. "Anybody there?"

When again no one gave him an answer, Booker cautiously ascended the stairs.

The first thing he saw was a wooden desk next to a clock, a giant world map hanging on the wall above it. A cupboard was right to Booker's left, as well as a silver tub. Perhaps he could throw their wet clothes in there later on but at the moment his tired feet mechanically carried them towards an uncomfortable looking bed with a worn-out mattress and a red pillow on it. The blanket was missing but Booker was glad to have at least found something he, or rather they, could rest on. Carefully, he lowered the woman onto the bed. She'd lost her hat in the storm Booker realized as he looked down at her and the peaceful expression on her face made her look a lot younger, he found.

The noise of the howling wind outside brought his thoughts back to the current state they were both in and he quickly looked around to see if he could find something useful in this lighthouse. He found a bunch of white towels and two blankets neatly folded in the cupboard along with a pair of shirts and pants and even though there weren't any skirts for the woman to wear, it was better than nothing, Booker concluded.

After carefully getting her out of her wet clothes and getting her into the dry ones he'd found in the cupboard, trying not to stare too much at her bare body in front of him, Booker managed to light a fire in the oven that was at the feet of another staircase that lead to another floor upstairs.

However, after not receiving an answer when entering the building, Booker was sure that there was no one else here with them and even if there was, frankly, he was too exhausted to investigate.

Without any further thoughts, Booker crept into bed next to the still unconscious woman and lightly pressed her to his chest from behind. Her skin was cold and he shivered slightly but it was all he could do to warm her up. The new clothes he was wearing did little to protect him from the coolness of her body but right now he didn't care.

He closed his eyes and welcomed the black nothingness of a very well deserved sleep.

* * *

Well, that's it for the first part! ;) Let me know if this is something you'd like to read more about.


	2. Chapter 2

This is chapter 2 of my story! There's not much to say about it, just enjoy reading and maybe leave behind a review. ;)

* * *

The last thing Rosalind remembered was the icy water of the ocean around her, drowning her and making her head spin before she'd lost her consciousness. She was, however, pretty sure that she was not dead. At least, Rosalind did not imagine that she'd feel anything in death and she did indeed feel something heavy lying around her waist, something that felt familiarly like the arm of another human being. She was surrounded by warmth and the presence of the man next to her calmed down her racing heart. Robert, Rosalind thought, too lazy to open her eyes and look at him.

When Booker opened his eyes again he felt rested and only his still aching muscles reminded him of the terrible occurrences from the previous night. Sunlight illuminated the inner part of the lighthouse now, making it appear a little bit friendlier than it had seemed at night and he could hear the faint sound of waves and seagulls in the distance.

Booker sighed and let his head sink onto the red pillow again. Next to him, the woman stirred in her sleep and pressed his arm closer to her chest. His body tensed up a little, not used to being so close to a female anymore and Booker was suddenly very aware of her presence.

He took a deep breath; perhaps it was time to wake her. After all, she had slept all night and from the clock on the opposite side of the room, he could tell that it was almost midday by now.

"Hey," he said quietly, shaking her gently. "Hey, Miss. Time to wake up."

When she didn't respond, Booker tried again, this time using a bit more force.

Her eyes opened and she looked at him lazily at first but she must have realized pretty quickly who he was because she shoved him away and jumped out of the bed, her red hair falling down over her shoulders.

"Mr. DeWitt!" She exclaimed, a horrid expression on her face. "Have you lost your mind? Do you always sleep next to women you have barely met a few hours ago?"

Booker raised an eyebrow and looked up at her. "Woah, easy there! I saved your life, lady. Could have left you drowning in the sea but I'm not that type of man so why don't you just show at least a little bit of gratitude…"

She stared at him for a few seconds, clearly surprised. " _You_ brought me here? Where is my brother? Why isn't he here with me?"

Booker sighed and scratched his head. Damnit, he had completely forgotten about the other one. "I lost sight of him out there… I - It was kinda difficult to keep track of things. Barely got you out of the water…"

She clenched her jaw. "And you didn't think it necessary to, perhaps, look for him too after getting me here?"

"What?!" Booker sat up straight now. "Are you kidding? I almost drowned myself! Wasn't gonna throw my life away trying to find your other half!"

She just stared at him, fury glistening in her blue eyes and her hands were clenched into fists. She was clearly fighting for self-control.

"Listen," he tried again. "I'm sorry for your loss, but there's no way I could have helped him. Hell, I'm glad I even made it to the lighthouse with you alive."

Rosalind didn't really hear DeWitt's last words. She was too busy trying to find the connection she shared with her brother, frantically searching every part of her mind until, finally, she found what she was looking for. It was still there, barely visible but Rosalind could feel his presence lingering in the dark.

She let out a relieved sigh. He was alive, she told herself. He hadn't left her alone. There was one thing Rosalind was more afraid of than anything else; and that was for Robert to leave her alone in this life in eternity. Ever since she'd found him via her Lutece particle, he'd been a part of her life; the only family she now possessed and losing him was something she could not, will not bear.

"You alright?" Booker asked, concerned about her silence.

"I have to find him," she told him bluntly and looked around, obviously in search for her belongings and found them tossed into the silver tub next to the cupboard.

"Woah, wait," Booker got up and straightened his shirt. "Find him? You won't find him out there, that's hopeless!"

He pointed toward the window and the open sea.

"Believe me, Mr. DeWitt, when I tell you that my brother is not dead," she informed him while searching for something in the pockets of her rain coat. "In fact, I think he might need my help. I can still feel his presence but it is a mere shadow of what it usually is so he could be in trouble."

Booker frowned. He was used to those two talking in miracles even though their journey together had been rather short but the woman clearly was on a mission.

"Hey, if you… need help finding your brother, I can come with you and-"

"I assure you, Mr. DeWitt, that won't be necessary, "she interrupted him. "I will find him in no time. Meanwhile, however, you could make yourself useful and complete the task we've assigned you to."

He stared at her, not sure what he was supposed to do with her strange behavior. There was no way on earth she was going to find her brother out there in the sea and Booker wasn't even sure if she knew what she was doing.

"You will find three bells at the top of the tower, each with a symbol on it," she continued unimpressed. "Chime the first on once and the other two twice and wait for the door to open. The rest is self-explanatory. I am sure you will find your way to your destination without our guide."

By now she had picked up her clothes and gave him a look that told Booker to turn around so she could change. He obeyed without another word.

"Try to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble while we are away." Even while dressing she was still giving him orders. "And remember to bring back the girl unharmed; we don't want anything to happen to her."

"Mhm," Booker replied, patiently waiting for her to finish. "What if she doesn't want to follow me to New York? What do I do then?"

"You tell her whatever you must to bring her back, Mr. DeWitt," she said and walked past him to the sink. "After all, you have to wipe away a debt and clear your name."

She gave him a quick smile and turned to leave when she stopped again to look at him.

"Oh, and Mr. DeWitt?" She said with a knowing look. "Whatever you do, do not pick number seventy-seven."

She glanced at him one more time before descending the stairs and disappearing out of sight, leaving behind a confused and taken aback Booker DeWitt.

"What the-?" Booker shook his head, massaging his temples with both hands.

After waiting another two minutes or so, he decided that the best he could do was to take that strange woman's advice and go after the girl since there seemed nothing he could do to help her.

He, too, changed into his own clothes and went over to the sink to clean himself. When he was done, Booker looked around for something to eat since his stomach was rumbling and he hadn't eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours. He didn't find anything in the room they'd spent the night in, so he made his way up the second pair of stairs and stopped dead in his tracks when he discovered the body of a man bound to a wooden chair, his head hidden beneath a brown bag that was soaked with the man's blood.

"What on earth happened here?" Booker asked himself aloud.

Suddenly, he wasn't so sure if Rosalind's twin brother was still alive or whether he'd been taken by the people who'd killed the poor man on the chair.

Booker's glance swept over a piece of paper attached to the wall behind the body. "Don't disappoint us", it said. Huh? Was the message meant for him to be read?

He had the strange feeling that it was and that whoever wrote it knew he was coming. Booker found that, suddenly, he wasn't really hungry anymore and that he could have breakfast when he arrived to wherever they intended to send him.

He quickly walked past the body and hurried up the next staircase, followed by another one, until he reached to top of the lighthouse.

The sun was shining down on him, the golden light reflecting on the dark blue surface of the ocean. There was absolutely no evidence of the violent storm that had forced them to their knees the night before. Booker shook his head again. Perhaps this was all just a nightmare and when he woke up, he'd be back in his bed in the small office he now owned.

He caught sight of something shimmering in the bright sunlight and found four silver eagles slightly hidden behind a barrel. He picked them up and put them into the pocket of his pants, the lighthouse keeper wasn't going to need them anymore so there was no harm in taking them and Booker wasn't one to let money go to waste.

A few steps later he found the three bells Lutece had been talking about and tried to remember what she'd said.

"Chime the first one once and the other two twice," he mumbled and stretched out his hand.

"You remembered well, Mr. DeWitt." He heard a voice to his right say and involuntarily jumped away from the bells.

"What the hell!?" He exclaimed, looking for the owner of it and found himself staring into a pair of glacial blue eyes. "What are _you_ still doing here? Shouldn't you be off to find the other one?"

She narrowed her eyes, her mouth pressed to a thin line. "There have been… some problems which prevent me from going after my brother. None of this, however, is any of your concern."

Booker raised an eyebrow at her.

"It seems like we will be travelling together, Mr. DeWitt," the woman informed him, ringing the bells in his stead. "For the time being, at least."

What happened next, Booker could not quite describe it, but it was far from anything he'd ever expected – if he'd expected anything at all that is. All he knew was that, suddenly, the sky turned bright red and a new, deeper and fuller sound repeated the chime of the three bells.

"What the-?" Unlike Booker, his new companion seemed to be familiar with the bizarre occurrences.

"To be honest, Mr. DeWitt," she said. "I've never travelled this way myself but rest assured that we will reach our destination one way or another."

The bells had made way for an entrance now and where the light of the tower used to be stood two chairs – the kind you usually don't want to sit on.

"Come on now!" The woman said when he hesitated. "Have a seat."

Booker wasn't sure what to think this but he just shrugged and sat down on one of the chairs. Immediately, his arms were cuffed to the armrests of his seating device, making it impossible for Booker to move around much and he tensed up in alarm. Was this supposed to be a trap?

When he glanced sideways, however, he realized that the female twin eyed him with curiosity, her body relaxed as if this was the most normal thing in life.

Booker shook his head. Crazy, he thought again. Simply insane. What had he gotten himself into this time?

"Make yourselves ready, pilgrims." A new voice said in a monotone way. "The bindings are there as a safeguard."

Oh, god, Booker thought. This couldn't be good, not at all.

"Ascension… Ascension in the count of FIVE… Count of FOUR… THREE… TWO… ONE…"

No, no, no, no, no! He felt himself being pressed into his seat while the same female voice said: "Ascension… Ascension…."

 _Stay calm, Booker, just stay calm,_ he told himself, gripping the armrests with his hands.

"Five thousand feet…"

They were going up – _fast_.

"Ten thousand feet…."

 _Keep breathing, Booker! Keep breathing!_

"Fifteen thousand feet…"

If they crashed, neither of them would survive this…

"Hallelujah…"

They broke through the clouds and after getting his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, Booker could only stared open-mouthed.

A city. A goddamned flying city.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys!

I`m so sorry that it took me so long to update! This story is fairly new so I didn`t keep a lot of you waiting but I just wanted to say that it has been a hell of a year so far! I had to deal with a lot of deaths, not only among my family but also among my friends which affected me gravely and prevented me from finding the energy to write. Additionally, I have been dealing with university and getting all my exams and papers done and am currently preparing for my semester abroad (which is a lot of work, especially since I have to fill in tons of documents and stuff).

I can`t tell you when the next update comes, but rest assured that it WILL come! ;) Also, I hope to get some reviews again, especially since I think that both Rosalind and Booker are sorely out of character which mainly is due to the fact that I have been obsessed with watching Phantom of the Opera as of lately which, in turn, led me to abandon Bioshock. I`m terribly sorry, really! xD But please, PLEASE let me know if I`m still getting those characters right!

Thanks! And enjoy the chapter!

* * *

There were houses floating in midair, bridges connecting one part of the city with another and in the middle of it all hovered the giant statue of an angel as if watching over this strange place and its citizens.

An airship passed by them as they started moving forward and one of the mansions to their left had an oversized poster of an elderly looking man with white hair and a beard on it.

"Father Comstock. Our Prophet," Booker read. _What the hell?_ He wasn't a very religious person, going to church once or twice a month was enough for Booker and to be honest, he didn't enjoy those little trips too much either.

"A rather interesting journey, don't you think, Mr. DeWitt?" The woman next to him asked. He still didn't know what to make of her.

"Yeah," was all he could think of at the moment, still taken aback by those newest impressions.

They were going downwards again, slowly making their way through what seemed to be a tunnel for the capsule they were travelling in.

How the capsule they were travelling in moved was as much a mystery to Booker as why anyone would build a city in the sky.

"Why would he send his savior unto us"

They continued their descent, faint music sounding in the distance.

"If we will not raise a finger for our own salvation?"

"And though we deserved not his mercy,"

"He has led us to this new Eden."

"A last chance for redemption."

Rosalind snorted at Comstock's choice of words. She found it unbelievable how utterly stupid and blind some people could be to fall for his lies and not even question his motives. It did not, however, lie in her power to prevent them from following a religious fanatic who aimed at silencing everyone who as much as lifted a finger against him. It also wasn't what concerned her the most at this very moment; she found the fact that she was not able to use the abilities caused by her quantum superposition a little bit more alarming. Her memories were still intact, which was a relief, but the disadvantage, that the loss of her invulnerability brought, was constantly nagging at her mind. The important question for now was _not_ how she lost her abilities to unlimitedly travel through time and space, but how she could regain them. Which automatically lead her to the next question; who was behind her brother's disappearance and their current 'situation'?

Obviously, there was something neither Robert nor she had taken into consideration when planning their next steps.

"Hey!" Booker's voice brought her back to reality and she quickly regained her composure. "You coming?"

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Not matter how often they had an encounter with DeWitt, the man was always running short on patience. This, Rosalind concluded, seemed to be a constant; a rather annoying one but a constant nevertheless.

Still dressed in the ridiculously looking yellow rain coat and matching boots, Rosalind stepped out of the capsule. Had she been able to blink in and out of existence, she would have found something else to wear by now, but due to an unfortunate turn of events she was forced leave on her current clothes.

"I suggest you stay close to me, Mr. DeWitt," she informed him bluntly. "I do not want any unpleasant encounters on our way to your destination. This way, now, if you would kindly follow me."

Rosalind was aware that Booker usually, meaning in all of their previous experiments, liked to linger and explore the city rather than getting on with his actual task and his daughter, or so it seemed, didn't mind this – in Rosalind's eyes – highly uncalled-for behavior. However, since there was a change in the development of their story, one that she admittedly had not foreseen, Rosalind decided that it was time for her to take matters into her own hands.

Time, although irrelevant when finding oneself in a quantum superposition, did indeed play a major factor in her finding her brother. The longer they needed to figure out what or who had caused Robert's disappearance, the less likely the chances of his survival got.

To her great dismay, she also had DeWitt and the girl to worry about now that she was forced to work alone and without the help of providing them with enough supplies to make it through this entire affair in one piece.

They passed the monk on their way down the staircase without her giving him a second glance, keeping her head down while walking by.

"Where are we?" Booker asked in confusion. "What is this place?"

Rosalind suppressed a sigh.

She hadn't given DeWitt enough time to look around; of course, he would ask questions about a city that did not even exist in his universe. She would have to be careful with what she revealed to him. If Rosalind provided him with not enough information if they left out an important part of their under normal circumstances well-planned journey, she not only endangered Booker and the girl, but also the lives of herself and Robert. If she revealed too much, however, the ´natural` order of things would be altered which _could_ result in utter chaos.

 _If one can even speak of a natural course of events any longer_ , Rosalind thought grimly. Damn Robert and his utterly stupid urge to set things right! She`d told him from the beginning that it would end badly, and she had been correct. Robert was missing and Rosalind found herself not only unable to locate her brother, but also accompanying a less than happy Booker DeWitt.

Had it not been for her brother`s threat to leave her side, she certainly would _not_ have gone through with this.

"To answer your question, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind spoke up as they descended the round staircase that would ultimately lead them into the city. "We are currently in the Welcome Center. A place created to _receive_ new arrivals to the city, if you will."

The water on the floor made soft, splashing sounds as they moved forward and for once Rosalind was glad for wearing the rain coat; even if it drew the attention of almost everyone they passed due to its screaming color.

A Welcome Center? Booker swore under his breath.

"Great," he muttered. "At least, they could have warned us about getting our feet soaked…"

Rosalind turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow but said nothing in return.

Somehow, Booker had the feeling that the Lutece woman was even more distant and cooler toward him without the other one at her side. Not that she had shown any kind of sympathy for him in the first place and, frankly, he couldn't care less about her behavior. As long as she didn't intend to prevent him from doing his job by getting in the way, that was.

When Rosalind came to an abrupt halt, Booker bumped into her and almost managed to throw them both off balance which earned him an angry glare from his newly acquired companion.

"I suggest you mind your step, Mr. DeWitt," she informed him coolly. "I do not want to end up dead because of your clumsiness."

"Clumsiness?", he echoed, glaring down at her petite frame. "Listen, lady, I`m not the one who suddenly decided to stop walking! If you don't want me bumping into you again any time soon, _I_ suggest you give me a warning in the future."

She regarded him with cool eyes. "When we enter the city, it is of the utmost importance, Mr. DeWitt, that we do not draw attention toward us."

Now it was his time to raise an eyebrow at her. "You do realize that your attire is less than ideal for appearing _normal_ , right? Unless people here run around in yellow rain coats… Wouldn't be surprising at all…"

"I am fairly sure you are acquainted with the dress code in the 20th century, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind replied, not a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Never mind," Booker muttered. Couldn't the woman even understand a joke when she heard one?

Judging from her response, he could only believe that the Lutece woman was not only immune to any kind of feelings except anger and indifference, but also lacked a sense of humor.

If this was how their journey was going to look like, he wasn't sure how long it would take for her to drive him mad. Perhaps he _did_ care about her behavior after all, seeing that his sanity was obviously at stake…

"I do not have time for jokes, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind said. "I must find my brother before any harm comes to him and I believe you have a job to finish as well. I am going to lead the way and you will follow me; preferably without getting us into trouble too early on."

His narrowed eyes and tense body posture told Rosalind immediately that the man was not at all pleased to be commanded around. He had questions, which also was nothing new to the physicist but she refrained from even giving him so much as a chance to ask them. The more he knew about their plan to retrieve the girl, the more likely Comstock would discover their presence and as much as Rosalind wanted to find her brother, the rational side of her told her to stay calm. She had always given more thought to logic than acting foolishly based on her feelings alone. Perhaps it was due to the many obstacles she`d had to fight because of her gender, Rosalind could not tell. The thought of spending eternity without Robert, however, was utterly terrifying for her and threatened to overwhelm her completely if she was not careful.

DeWitt was an entirely different matter. The man wouldn't know discreteness even if someone told him the meaning of the word and without the utensils that she and Robert usually provided along Booker`s journey, the odds of getting out of this disaster alive were devastatingly small.

Leading the way again, Rosalind steadily walked toward a small group of monks who were gathered around a priest – the very same priest who had baptized Comstock so many years ago. Of course, DeWitt would not recognize him as such. Despite her frustration about the situation, Rosalind – being the scientist that she was – saw the opportunity that presented itself. She would be able to observe DeWitt and his daughter first hand; not just from afar. She was also curious to see how well he – _they_ – would fair now that their support was decidedly limited.

"And every year on this day of days, we recommit ourselves to our city, and to our Prophet, Father Comstock.

We recommit through sacrifice, and the giving of thanks, and by submerging ourselves in the sweet water of baptism.

And lo, if the prophet had struck down our enemies at Wounded Knee, and not railed against the Sodom beneath us, it would have been enough."

Their path was lined with hundreds of burning candles swimming on the dark water, their dancing flames reflecting on the smooth surface.

"If the prophet had just railed against the Sodom beneath us, but not accepted the three golden gifts of the Founders, it would have been enough.

If the prophet had just accepted the three golden gifts of the Founders, and not prayed for our deliverance, it would have been enough.

IF the prophet had only prayed for our deliverance, and not led us to the New Eden, IT would have been enough.

IF the prophet had just led us to the New Eden, and not purged the vipers of the Orient, IT would have been enough.

IF the prophet had just purged the vipers of the Orient, and not suffered the sacrifice of his beloved, IT would have been enough.

IF THE PROPHET HAD JUST SUFFERED THE SACRIFICE OF HIS BELOVED, AND NOT EXPELLED THE VOX POPULI, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN ENOUGH."

The priest`s words, getting louder with every sentence that left his mouth, stirred up emotions in Rosalind that she had not felt in quite some time – though time bore no significance when one found oneself in a state of quantum superposition. Being one to often put aside her emotions in favor of logic, Rosalind was slightly taken aback at the intensity of the hatred she held for the very man who called himself a Prophet when he was nothing more than a liar, a hypocrite.

Casting a glance at Booker, who seemingly doubted the priest`s sanity, Rosalind took a step forward, making their presence known to the men before them.

If her memory was correct, none of the attendees would recognize her as neither she nor Robert had ever used this way of entering the city. Yet, she would have to be cautious; Comstock was capable of anything to achieve his goals – Rosalind had been the recipient and silent bystander of many of his _measures to ensure loyalty and restore peace_.

Silence was gold, especially when it came to not losing one`s head in Columbia.

"Is it someone new?" The priest asked when they entered the circle and stopped before him. "Someone from the Sodom below? Newly come to Columbia to be washed clean before our Prophet, our Founders, and our Lord?"

"We just need passage into the city," Booker said next to her, his lack of patience showing again and she bit her tongue in order to remain quiet, deciding only to intervene if deemed necessary.

"Passage to the city?" The priest repeated with a laugh and Rosalind recalled his name to be Witting. Where the sudden memory came from, however, was a mystery to her for she had never cared much about devoutly religious people.

"Brother, the only way to Columbia is through rebirth in the sweet waters of baptism. WILL you be cleansed, brother?" Witting continued with outstretched arms.

From next to her, Booker regarded the priest with plain dislike; an emotion Rosalind herself could fully relate to.

"It`s either this or turn around and get back on that rocket," he murmured more to himself but she caught his words nevertheless. "Might as well get it over with."

"If you intend to enter the city, I suggest you do," she replied in an equally low voice.

Witting gestured for DeWitt to step forward. "Come and be cleansed! Hallelujah!"

Rosalind snorted inwardly.

"Praise the Lord!" The crowd of pilgrims around them exclaimed as Booker stepped forward to accept the priest`s outstretched hand.

Rosalind knew what was to come next; she had witnessed it 122 times and they had all been the same. However, a new variable had been added to the story with her role now no longer being that of a more or less silent observer, but that of an active participant.

The outcome of an event which contained one or multiple unknown variables was always, under all circumstances uncertain.

At least of _that_ Rosalind could, with a finite certainty, be sure.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay guys! I`m back with another chapter of Quantum Mysteries. ;)

I still have no idea if I`m doing okay so please leave behind some reviews to let me know what you think of it! This chapter is a tiny bit longer than the previous ones because I`m going at a really slow rate here at the moment and I thought I should at least let them arrive properly so Booker actually gets to see part of the city before I come to the next chapter. ;)

The pace will slowly pick up from now on but since the game itself is awesome and you can spend hours just running through Columbia looking for voxophones, vigors, etc. or simply enjoying the view I`m afraid that the story is going to be a longer one. lol

Enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think! :)

* * *

Accepting the preacher`s outstretched hand may not have been one of Booker`s brightest ideas he concluded as he found himself pushed under water. Jesus, was the man trying to drown him?

He faintly heard the priest`s voice while struggling against the firm grip that held Booker down and just as his vision started to blur due to the lack of oxygen, the mad man jerked him upwards again.

Booker gasped and coughed but he barely had time to recover, when the priest spoke up again.

"I don`t know brothers and sisters. But this one doesn't look clean to me…"

 _What the hell-?_

Before Booker could even form a response, he was again being pushed down.

 _If that bastard drowns me, I`m gonna come back and kill him myself!_ He thought, before losing consciousness.

He was woken by loud, persistent knocks. Opening his eyes, Booker had to blink several times until his vision finally cleared and he found himself in his… _office_? How the hell did he end up here? Was this another trick those damn Lutece twins had up their sleeves just to annoy him?

The knocks sounded again and Booker, who was sitting at his desk, wearily raised his head to look at the door.

"Who`s there?", he asked. "Who`s there?"

"Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt," a male voice replied.

 _Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt._ The words were familiar; yet the voice that spoke them sounded strange and even though Booker tried to remember, he just couldn't place it.

"What do you want?" He now asked with a touch of anger.

"We had a deal, DeWitt!" The man outside said determined. "Open this door, right now!"

Ah, the deal… He vaguely started to remember the tall red-headed man who had intruded his home to propose a deal; one Booker had originally refused.

"I told you… I`m not going to do it!" He shouted. "Now go away."

"Mr. DeWitt! Mr. DeWitt!"

Booker tried to ignore the annoying pounding on his office door but the man on the other side was relentless. Perhaps, a face to face talk would convince the fella to leave him alone…

With a sigh, Booker left his place behind the large, wooden desk and crossed the room to open the door, ready to shove his unwelcomed guest out onto the street.

Instead of facing the man, however, Booker found himself looking down on a burning New York City…

"What the-" He mumbled, taking in the scene of total destruction before him.

This wasn't the New York Booker remembered. Nor was it one he`d ever want to remember.

He didn't even get the chance to think any further about what he`d just witnessed, when the world around him suddenly went black again and every thought left his body.

Coughing violently, Booker opened his eyes for yet another time only to be met by a pair of glacial blue ones. Immediately, a picture of the white-haired priest entered his mind and he growled.

"That idiot priest needs to learn the difference between baptizing a man and drowning one."

He turned to look over his shoulder but wherever they were now, the priest was nowhere to be seen. Booker shrugged. _As long as he minds his own business from now on_ , he thought grimly and, taking in his surroundings for the first time, raised an eyebrow.

They stood in the middle of a pool, the water only reaching their ankles, surrounded by three over-sized stone statues. At a guess, Booker suspected them to be the Founding Fathers the priest had mentioned during their short-lived encounter.

Three pilgrims, all dressed in white robes just like the ones they`d met earlier, where kneeling in front of a statue that represented Father Washington, obviously praying to him. Seeing the scene before him, Booker sighed, inwardly hoping that the place was not inhabited by religious fanatics who believed everything to be a gift from God himself. The last thing he needed were preachers at every corner of the city trying to convert him.

Turning back to Rosalind, he noticed that she too was soaking. She had her lips pressed to a thin line, arms crossed behind her back while eyeing him impatiently.

"Something the matter?" Booker asked bewildered.

"Indeed," she replied coolly. "If you`re done brooding over almost being drowned, Mr. DeWitt, I would like to find some dry clothes I can change into. It`s getting rather chilly and I don't want to catch a cold."

He nodded. "Alright."

If they wanted to keep a low profile, she`d have to find something else to wear anyway. Something less… yellow, he supposed.

Booker let the woman lead the way but remembered to keep his distance as he trailed behind her.

They ascended a staircase that lead them from the pool to what looked like a small garden. They were surrounded by rosebushes, well-trimmed and cared for, trees and other flowers Booker would not have expected to find in a city floating in the sky.

Booker even found a couple of Silver Eagles on one of the benches and in a well along the way but didn't want to push his luck by stealing them right in front of the pilgrims. To his surprise, however, the Lutece woman seemed to think different, picking up the money without giving the fact that she`d just turned into a thief in bright daylight and with a dozen witnesses a second thought.

Looking at the silver coins in her hands, she counted them, then frowned and shook her head. Booker, who literally had no idea whatsoever as to why Rosalind even bothered picking up the money, only stared at her and muttered: "It`s not like we`re here to buy souvenirs, you know… Could`ve just left the money where it was…"

"You`ll find that _collecting_ certain items, including those of monetary value, will be helpful and can be the difference between life and death," she replied without turning back.

Booker rolled his eyes. "What are we gonna do with those coins? Throw them at our enemies to kill them? Yeah, sure. I mean, why not? Since I lost my gun on our hell ride to here, money`s going to be a good replacement. Women…."

Rosalind pointedly ignored his last statement.

They encountered one last pilgrim who was so deep in prayer that he didn't even notice Booker slightly brushing his shoulder as they passed. "… that there is no chance nor luck, only providence, and that you see its divine hand at work, you discern the transmundane."

"Just `cause a city flies don't mean it ain`t got its fair share of fools," he muttered, then turned his attention back to his task. "All right… still got a girl to find."

They reached a double wooden door.

"Remember my words, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind reminded him and Booker caught the hint of a warning in her tone, before she pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted Booker left him breathless for a moment.

There was a bridge that lead directly to a large square with an enormous stone statue of a man in the middle.

Rosalind must have noticed his expression because she stopped right next to a bench that was currently occupied by a giggling young couple and turned to look at him.

"Yes," she said with a nod. "Columbia can be quite… overwhelming when one sees it for the first time. Do not let yourself be fooled by your first impressions, Mr. DeWitt. There are more dangers lurking in this place than you might expect. Now, if you would kindly follow me again."

Crossing the bridge that connected Columbia`s Welcome Center with the city, Rosalind could already hear the faint sound of bells in the distance. The square was unusually empty for a warm summer day and they encountered only a handful of people, probably those who tried to get some peace and quiet for a change, on their way.

As they passed by a young couple that dreamily stared up at the over-sized statue of Comstock, Rosalind heard the woman sigh: "Oh, that statue… I just think it fails to capture Father Comstock`s absolute… you know… divinity!"

Hearing the comment, Rosalind bit her tongue. Those people were so unbelievingly naïve and ignorant! If they knew where their beloved Prophet`s divinity originated from, she bet that all of them would see the man for the hypocrite he really was.

She could not allow herself to fret over the inhabitants of a city _she_ had created, however. Her primary task was to find new clothing and their arrival at midday was a blessing in disguise as they entered the square just in time to see Hudson`s connecting with this part of Columbia.

They currently had 51 Silver Eagles which, presuming Rosalind`s memory was correct, should be enough to purchase a dress and a pair of shoes. She hadn't been to the store in quite some time so there was a possibility that prices had risen since her last visit.

DeWitt followed her without complaint for a change and he even picked up an additional six coins right next to the store. _Finally, the man is back to his old self_ , she thought, thinking of the fact that he had hesitated to steal the money back in the Welcome Center. Another variable that had apparently changed due to her presence. The other DeWitts had not been as reluctant to turn into thieves as this one.

Fortunately for Rosalind, Mr. Hudson was not present this day, probably attending the raffle like most of the citizens, which drastically diminished the odds of being recognized. Even the man who was currently occupied with polishing a civilian`s shoes, and who Rosalind suspected to be a new employee, had never met her before.

The shoeshiner looked up as they entered and nodded at Booker. "I will be with you in a minute, sir!"

"Yeah, no problem," Booker replied.

Rosalind made her way over to the dresses, examining the material of each. She needed a light one that would not interfere with her movements as she suspected that they would find themselves running from police forces more than once.

Glancing over at Booker, she found him staring at one of the kinetoscopes that were spread all over the city. As it appeared, Hudson`s now possessed one.

"What`s a… kinetoscope?" DeWitt asked, reading the inscription in the wood.

Of course, coming from a completely different universe and being in Columbia for the first time, he wouldn't be familiar with this kind of technology. However, Rosalind, who would have provided him with an answer immediately under normal circumstances, remained silent. Keeping up the pretense was of utmost importance if they wanted to avoid Comstock for as long as possible.

"The kinetoscope, sir?" The employee asked politely. "It is a sort of silent movie device. If you are interested in the history of Columbia and our beloved Prophet, I highly recommend you take a look at one, sir! Mr. Jeremiah Fink provides us with the most modern and wondrous technology!"

Rosalind watched as Booker frowned and hesitantly bent over the device.

 _The Word of the Prophet_ , created by Comstock and Fink to promote Columbian propaganda throughout the entire city, was another mean of the lunatic to turn his citizens into obeying sheep.

The man had originally approached her and Robert with this idea, but due to their _lack of enthusiasm_ he had quickly turned to Fink who had welcomed the opportunity to make money with open arms.

Rosalind again searched for the almost non-existent connection she still shared with her counterpart and was relieved to find it was still intact. Wherever he was, he was unable to contact her, that much was clear. Rosalind also was almost entirely certain that Comstock was, at least, partly responsible for their separation and she was determined to reach the man before he could cut their connection once and for all.

"Have you found what you`re looking for, Madame?"

Rosalind hadn't heard the employee approach and so she jumped slightly when he suddenly stood next to her.

"I´m afraid not," she confessed, a small smile playing at her lips. "I`m looking for something comfortable to wear until the rest of my clothing arrives."

She decided to go with the story that they were new arrivals who had lost their baggage during a terrible storm at sea and were now in need of new clothes until their suitcases were retrieved. It was a risk, though, as Columbia hadn't received new citizens in many years since Comstock had closed all entrances to the city. The employee, however, did not seem to find her story strange in the slightest which lead Rosalind to assume that the prophet had provided his people with yet another lie to keep up the peace.

In the end, she left the shop dressed in a very modest brown dress with a white blouse and an equally matching brown jacket. It wasn't much but with the lack of money, it was all they could afford.

"So, where do we go now?" Booker murmured as he walked next to her with his hands in his pockets.

"I believe you have a job to do, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind reminded him bluntly. "Our ways will part as soon as we have passed the raffle. From there on, you will make your way to Monument Island without me."

They reached another bride that apparently served as a connection between different parts of the city. It was guarded by a police officer who observed them with narrowed eyes as they approached and, instinctively, Booker reached out and took Rosalind`s arm in his, smiling at the officer as they passed.

He felt her stiffen for a second and leaned into her to whisper: "It`s less suspicious if we appear as a couple."

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. It was a gesture Booker had seen on her before every time she seemed to disagree with something, but, for now, she just went along with the act and remained silent.

"Columbian Raffle and Fair," he read as they approached a sign of this year`s raffle. "Huh."

That explained the fireworks, flags and police officers everywhere; and why they hadn't encountered too many of the cities inhabitants on their way so far.

"What`s the celebration for?" He asked, motioning towards the sign.

"Columbia seceded from the United States on July 6th 1902," Rosalind explained. "The Raffle celebrates its independence."

"Strange," Booker mused, scratching the stubbles of his beard. "Never heard of a city that declared its independence from the States…"

In fact, now that he thought about it, Booker had never even heard of a city named Columbia before. He frowned.

"How come that I don't remember any of it?" Surely, people would be talking about something like a floating city! So why couldn't he….

"Mr. DeWitt," a sharp voice interrupted his inner monologue. "Your nose is bleeding."

He blinked several times and brought his fingers to his nose. When he pulled back, they were covered with dark red liquid.

"Here," Rosalind handed him a white handkerchief. "Keep it. I suspect that it`ll be of use for you later on."

"Uh, thank you," he said, taking it and holding it to his nose to stop the bleeding.

She gave him a short nod and gently, but with a firm grip pulled him with her, up the stairs, straight past a grocery store and a large poster titled _The_ _False Shepherd seeks only to lead our lamb astray_.

 _Who the hell is that girl?_ Booker thought. This goddamned city arose more questions than it answered the longer he stayed and his strange companion only added to the mystery. She knew more about this place than she was telling him; and not only that, she was also strangely familiar to him though he couldn't place her. Not yet, at least.

Booker gave her a sideway glance and, not for the first time, noticed the determined expression in her eyes and the way she held herself.

The more Booker thought about it, the more he wanted to go back to his New York apartment and spend the rest of his life buried in work as a detective and at his favorite bar downtown. The entire situation gave him a server headache but he didn't have much of a choice. He was here now, in a flying city with a strange woman and the task to find and kidnap a girl he`d never met.

 _Well, screw it!_ Booker thought grimly. He`d find the girl and, while doing so, he`d also find out who the hell Rosalind Lutece was and what she was playing at.

* * *

 _Edit:_ I don`t know how to edit the format of my text so it`ll actually stay the way I intended it to. Every time I edit the chapter, it automatically goes back to how it is now. Any help is appreciated! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys!**

 **It's been a while since the last update but I found absolutely no time at all to write in Ireland! It's amazing how much you can do and see! It's definitely worth a trip if you haven't been there.**

 **Anyway, I'm finally back with chapter 5 of Quantum Mysteries. This is so much fun to write because Rosalind and Booker are such different characters. It's also a challenge and I feel like I fail to find the right writing style at some points but, so far, your feedback has been pretty positive which is very encouraging for me to go on! So, thanks for all the support!**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

The 1912 raffle was almost exactly like the few ones Rosalind and Robert had attended before their unfortunate accident in October of 1909. The only exception were the new vigors and voxophones that were presented in this year`s edition and the fireworks.

Rosalind snorted. If the origin of the raffle hadn't been so bloody, she and her brother may have been able to enjoy the event. However, knowing the truth about Columbia`s independence and Comstock`s plans added a rather bitter note to the entire affair and they had both decided to no longer attend – despite the many invitations they`d regularly received.

They arrived at the fair rather quickly and without DeWitt trying to go astray and explore as he`d so regularly done during their 122 previous attempts. Rosalind already noticed slight differences in his behavior; he was less reckless and more aware of how his actions could draw attention to them – at least he had been up until this point and Rosalind sincerely hoped it would stay that way as it would spare them a lot of trouble.

She was about to head straight to the last vigor stand without wanting to linger at this place for too long, when Booker, who was still holding her arm, slowed them down.

"Woah, wait a second," he said and looked around. "The girl`s locked up in that tower, she`s not gonna go anywhere. Might as well enjoy our time of peace as long as it lasts…"

Rosalind narrowed her eyes.

"Time may not be an issue for you, Mr. DeWitt," she hissed lowly. "For my brother, however, even five minutes could mean the difference between life and death."

Booker stared at her and raised his arms in defense. "Hey, just trying to ease the mood a little… I only thought we could have some fun before things start to get serious, you know…"

"Fun, Mr. DeWitt, is the last thing on my list right now," Rosalind shot back. "Now, if you would kindly do me a favor and follow me."

With that, she marched on. Rosalind Lutece was a woman with clear goals and liked to get things done immediately – unlike DeWitt, who constantly found distractions along the way. Unfortunately for him, Rosalind was not in the mood to let him try out the Bucking Bronco or shoot Vox Populi at any of the stands. Robert needed her help and the longer she waited, the less likely his survival became.

Given the chance, Booker would have liked to stay at the fair for a bit. Every mission he went on could be his last so he didn't see any problem in enjoying his life while he still could. His _partner_ , however, had other ideas and she practically dragged him along with her.

"Who amongst you has tasted the divine gift of the vigor?" They heard a man shout. "One swig, and feats of wonderment are at the tips of your fingers!"

Booker turned, frowning. "What are vigors?"

The man, who must have heard him, answered with a laugh. "You have not heard of the wonderment that is a vigor, young sir? Well, then roll up and try the amazing power of Bucking Bronco!"

Hesitantly, Booker stepped closer to the stand where the man, dressed in a grey suit, stood on a wooden box to promote Bucking Bronco and attract curious attendees of the fairs.

"Whether you need it lifted, lofted, tossed or tumbled. Bucking Bronco is just the ticket!"

Booker could feel Rosalind stiffen next to him but he decided to ignore her this time. Hell, the chances of him dying were constantly present! What harm could testing a vigor possibly do?

So much for rushing through the fair, he thought with a grin.

"Carpe diem," Booker muttered before taking a large sip of the golden-glowing bottle in front of him.

Whatever Booker expected when drinking the vigor, it never came. The only change, at least the only visible one, was that his left hand now looked dried-out; similar to the sandy plains of a desert.

He cocked an eyebrow but remained silent and concentrated on the scene before him.

"Now, young sir!" The man said enthusiastically. "All you have to do is hit the Devil three times to rescue the mother and her child! Good luck!"

"Alright," Booker mumbled. "Let`s do this."

He found the Devil hiding behind the armchair on the left but had to wait for the mother to move aside to get a clean shot. Out of instinct, he pointed his left arm at the crouching Devil and focused his mind to force a blast of energy to hit and lift up the figure.

"Gotcha!" Booker shouted triumphantly and, once again, ignored Rosalind`s raised eyebrow.

Of course, DeWitt would be tempted to try out the vigor at the first chance. What she had not taken into consideration was how determined and headstrong the man actually was and so Rosalind found herself – despite having _told_ him several times by now that they must hurry up – halting at every stand they passed.

She pursed her lips, her left foot tapping impatiently as she waited for Booker to finish shooting Fitzroy and her Vox Populi. Had she known what an absolute nuisance the man would be, she would have left him in the lighthouse to begin with.

"Are you quite done now, Mr. DeWitt?" She asked sharply, her eyes scanning the crowd for any familiar faces; anyone who could recognize and report her. "Time is precious."

"I thought time was irrelevant for the two of you," Booker grumbled while giving her an annoyed glare.

" _Was_ , Mr. DeWitt," she replied bluntly. "Surely, it has not escaped your notice that we find ourselves in a precarious situation. Some rather… _unforeseen_ happenings have put into motion a chain of events that prevent us from following our usual guidelines."

Booker turned away from the Vox stand, but not without rolling his eyes.

"Listen," he said, looking straight at her. "If you're so concerned about your brother's life, why don't you just leave and look for him on your own? That way, you could spare us both some nerves."

Rosalind paused for a moment, considering his words.

"It depends…" she said slowly, her eyes wandering to the last vigor stand.

They would both need a free sample of 'Possession' to get through the gate as neither of them had been invited to the Raffle.

She looked back at DeWitt who obviously hadn't got a clue what she was talking about.

"Depends on what?" he asked bewildered. "Can you please not talk in riddles for once!"

"If that hawker over there has got enough free samples to get us both through to the Raffle," Rosalind answered slightly annoyed. "Like it or not, Mr. DeWitt, we are – at least to some extent – sitting in the same boat. Your success largely depends on my brother and me. If one of us is taken out, your chances of survival drastically diminish!"

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she instantly chided herself for letting her temper get the better of her. She could see on DeWitt's expression that he was trying to work out the meaning behind what she'd just said.

"I don't see how your presence has anything to do with my success of getting that girl out of the tower alive," he said in a low voice, his eyes narrowed at her. "Unless, there is something you're not telling me… Something I, perhaps, should be aware of…"

There was an unasked question at the end of his sentence, one Rosalind preferred not to answer. He would not get the grasp of physics anyway, let alone the complicated mechanisms behind their current situation, and Rosalind was not about to provide him with an explanation either.

"You need us to wipe away your debt, Mr. DeWitt," she replied coolly instead. "Do not forget that."

It was a wildcard, evading his question like that. However, Rosalind concluded, one had to play theirs when the time was right and hope for the best.

"Now, I suggest you do get on with it and follow me," she said nonchalantly and began walking towards the Possession hawker. "Otherwise, our ways part here."

She could see that he was holding back a snarky reply.

"Alright," Booker grumbled instead. "We do this your way."

He caught up with her and, again, took her arm in his.

"I do not see why this is necessary, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind hissed. "Anyone with half a brain can see that we are not a couple."

Booker couldn't suppress his grin. He'd noticed that the petite woman next to him didn't like too much body contact.

 _If she drags me along with her, she might as well get used to it,_ he thought.

"They will merely assume that we just had a disagreement," he replied amusedly. "Nothing suspicious about that."

The comment earned him a disapproving snort from her but he only shrugged. The last thing they now needed was unwanted attention. Appearing as a couple, believable or not, was their best shot and as long as the Lutece woman didn't come up with a better plan, they'd have to stick to his.

Booker also found it very satisfying to annoy her, as he suspected that things usually went her way and, judging from her attitude, she was the one bossing others around.

She walked rather stiffly beside him as they approached the hawker, he noticed, as if she wanted nothing more than to have her highly valued freedom back.

"You need to relax," Booker said, looking down at her.

Rosalind avoided his gaze, determinedly keeping her eyes straight.

"Perhaps, Mr. DeWitt," she retorted. "When I do not find myself chasing after my brother's kidnappers."

They had reached the hawker; a beautiful young girl with light brown hair carrying a basket full of greenly glowing bottles.

"Possession," Booker read on one of the many poster. "Free samples, huh?"

The girl smiled at them. "Dear friend, have you ever lost a penny to a vending machine? Has a pay telephone ever refused to connect you with a beloved spouse?"

Booker raised an eyebrow. She sounded like she was reading a text from a piece of paper.

 _Good thing those samples are free,_ he thought. _Otherwise she wouldn't even sell half a bottle._

"Well!" The girl rambled on. "It's time to take back control from the men of metal! With Possession, YOU are the master! YOU will bend any machine to your will!"

Rosalind gave him a curious side glance. He still wasn't entirely sure what to make of her as she seemed to study him every chance she got. He was certainly sure that she was up to something – he just didn't know what it was.

"Alright," Booker sighed. "Give me one of those."

He took one of the weirdly glowing bottles and drowned it in one go. A weird feeling overcame him, his senses becoming dull for a moment and the world around him went oddly green.

Booker blinked. He could hear the hawker's voice faintly in the distance: "With just a whisper, they're all ears…"

She giggled from somewhere far away and Booker could swear that, for a split second, her whole body lit up green.

 _Woa!_ He thought and stumbled backwards a bit before the world turned back to normal.

"What the-" Booker said clearly stunned. "What on earth was that?"

The girl giggled once more as Rosalind dragged him away from the vigor stand and towards a heavy-looking golden gate.

"We have no time to lose, Mr. DeWitt," she reminded him. "Now, would you kindly use your newly acquired abilities on that ticket taker?"

"I- what?" Booker stammered.

"The ticket taker," Rosalind repeated impatiently.

"Why don't we just buy one?" Judging from her expression, he realized that this must have been an incredibly stupid question. "Never mind…"

He pointed his left hand at the machine guarding the gate and a beam of green light surged from his fingers and into the ticket taker.

"Well, if it isn't Assemblyman Buford with his lovely wife Margaret!" It said. "Your spot at the Raffle awaits! Don't know why I didn't recognize you before!"

The gate swung open and Rosalind, in a hurry to get to going, pulled him along with her.

"Odd!" Booker heard the automaton say behind them. "Always good to have gentlemen of your caliber at our fairgrounds!"

 _Wouldn't be saying that if he knew why I'm here,_ Booker thought with a grim smile.

* * *

 **Alright, that's it for today. I'm already working on chapter 6! :) Hoping for some reviews to see if people are still interested. ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi everyone!**

 **Took me long enough to post a new chapter but it is finally here and I hope that you're still interested in the story. We have finally arrived at the raffle and there's going to be some action in the next chapter so stay tuned!**

* * *

The area behind the gate was much quieter than the rest of the fair and Booker suspected, after having just tricked the ticket taker, that only specially invited citizens were allowed to take part in the Raffle.

 _Must be quite a thing if only the high society is present,_ he thought, wondering what could possibly be so special about a Raffle that they kept the commoners out.

Another thing Booker noticed were the many balloons everywhere he looked. Blue, white and red were the main colors, suiting for an American city – even if it was high up in the clouds.

How had he never heard of a Columbia before? Surely, this would have been in the news…

"Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind's voice interrupted his thoughts one again. "Your nose is bleeding."

Frowning, Booker reached for the handkerchief she had given him earlier that day and wiped the blood from his face.

"Perhaps," she said. "It would be better if you didn't think too much about trivial matters."

"Don't tell me you can read minds now," Booker muttered, wiping away the last drop of blood.

He still couldn't make sense of her.

"No," she replied curtly. "However, past experiences have shown that nosebleeds only occur when overexerting one's mind. Seeing as you have neither been engaging in any physical activity that could possibly be this straining, nor in anything related to science, my advice is to focus on the task at hand."

Booker raised an eyebrow at her, then shook his head, deciding to drop the topic altogether since it was unlikely that he'd get a proper reply out of her even if he tried.

He stuffed the handkerchief back into the pocket of his vest and looked around in an attempt to figure out where they had to go next, but Rosalind had already taken it up on herself to lead the way.

Booker snorted. _How the hell am I to get outta here alive when the damn woman won't even let me take a look around!_

He knew from experience that breaking into a building – or anything at all – was not the most difficult task; the main problem was to find a way out without getting caught. He'd arrested his fair share of criminals who had done the unthinkable of managing to break into a highly secured facility unseen by the guards only to end up in jail because they had ignored the most important rule: always have an escape plan.

They passed an abandoned hot dog stand and two girls playing next to a pavilion without speaking a word as Rosalind set an eager pace for him to follow.

"Hey!" Booker called after her. "Slow down a bit, will you?"

The woman didn't even acknowledge his request and kept on walking. Booker cursed under his breath as they passed a group of citizens standing in the shadow of a large tree.

As they rounded a corner that was followed by a staircase, Rosalind came to a sudden halt. Booker, who'd been busy staring at one of the floating houses in the distance – one that had an absurd amount of balloons attached to its walls, including giant versions of two of the founding fathers – almost bumped right into her.

"What the –," he muttered. "Why are we halting?"

Then he spotted the two police officers that had apparently caught Rosalind's attention. They were engaged in a conversation and didn't seem to have noticed them – yet, at least.

"When did you get that?" Booker heard one of them say, a tall and lean fella with very little hair on his head.

"This little beauty?" his partner asked, holding up his left arm that had a very curious-looking device attached to it. "The whole division got them. If we're going to flush the Vox out of the sky-line system, we gotta have the best."

Booker had no idea what a sky-line system was but he had the strange feeling that it would be playing a greater role in his mission. He just wasn't sure what he'd need that hook-like thing for.

"They got any openings in the group?" The tall man said with a hint of jealousy in his voice. "I'd love to bust some Vox skull."

"The Vox aren't very popular around here, eh?" Booker murmured with a side glance at Rosalind.

"Let me put it like this, Mr. DeWitt," she replied while eyeing the two policemen with distrust. "If you want to keep a low profile, I suggest you distance yourself from Daisy Fitzroy and her followers for the time being."

 _For the time being, huh?_ Booker thought. _Meaning we'll be crossing parts later on._

The farther they got, the more he asked himself what he'd gotten himself into. If they had to team up with a bunch of wanted criminals, Booker's task to retrieve the girl began to look more and more like a suicide mission – and he wasn't entirely sure if he liked the sound of it.

"Is there a problem?" Booker asked when Rosalind still hadn't made an attempt to move along.

She pressed her lips to a thin line. Damn, she was hard to read and even harder to please Booker concluded. Nothing he did or said seemed to trigger the right response. The faster they parted ways, the happier he'd be.

"Have you forgotten our precarious situation?" she hissed and switched sides so she was now walking to his right.

Booker snorted. "Hard to forget if you keep reminding me every two minutes…"

Careful not to draw too much attention toward them, he guided her past the two men and down the stairs. Rosalind seemed to relax slightly when they were finally out of sight and turned to say something to him, but Booker was too busy staring at the statue that stood in the middle of a small plaza.

One moment, it had been an oversized version of the male Lutece twin holding a floating Columbia in his outstretched hand and the next, it hadn't. Instead, he was now staring at the statue of the female twin.

"How the hell…?" Booker stammered, unsure if what he'd just witnessed was in fact real.

He half expected the statue to change again but it didn't. Rosalind pointedly ignored his comment or she hadn't noticed the entire event, he wasn't sure.

"This place is getting stranger by the minute," Booker muttered, shaking his head.

"Are you done brooding over what might or might not have been, Mr. DeWitt?" the Lutece woman asked impatiently. "We have a Raffle to attend."

So she _had_ seen the statue change.

"You sure you can't read my mind?" he asked skeptically.

"Your body language is not hard to decipher," she countered bluntly.

He snorted, then arched an eyebrow when he noticed the poster to their right.

"Monument Island," he read. "Closed."

 _Well,_ he thought bitterly. _That's gonna complicate things a little._

They walked past a group of playing children when Booker spotted a voxophone on the bench next to the statue. Who'd leave something like this lying around in public?

He would have liked to listen to it but Rosalind dragged him along, past the children and toward a giant arch. There was a poster underneath, one that showed a boney hand with claw-like fingers and a tattoo on it that looked all too familiar to Booker.

"You shall know the False Shepherd by his mark," he read out loud. "What the…?"

He raised his own hand, the letters AD clearly readable on its back. Was this some kind of sick coincidence?

Rosalind waited patiently for DeWitt to finish brooding over the fact that he possessed the mark shown on the poster before them. Perhaps in this universe he would finally come to the conclusion that _he_ actually was the false shepherd before it was too late. However, given 122 previous tries and the resulting experiences, she doubted that he'd think this far.

"Are you quite done now, Mr. DeWitt?" she asked, having decided that his time was up. "We have places to be."

She was already glad that he'd refrained from listening to Constance Field's voxophone. She'd heard it over a hundred times before, there was no need for a repeat.

Much to her surprise, he nodded silently and followed her without complaint. Apparently, this new discovery was still occupying his thoughts.

Content with his silent obedience, Rosalind marched on, pointedly ignoring the constant singing of the crowd in the background.

They passed a handful of citizens on their way to the Raffle and Rosalind picked up pieces of their conversations.

"We'll see about that," one of them said. "I'm feeling lucky."

She avoided eye contact, always careful to not be recognized by someone who could possibly remember her face.

Had she had another choice, Rosalind would never have attended the Raffle but Robert needed her help and to get to him, she needed to make sure DeWitt arrived at Monument Island. She was sure Comstock was responsible for her brother's disappearance and as long as he was busy removing his so-called False Shepherd from the equation, she had greater chances of finding Robert.

Booker paid little attention to his surroundings until they stopped in front of a small gate. It wasn't closed which was why he looked down at his companion questioningly.

"I thought we had places to be?" he asked with a smirk. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."

Rosalind glared at him. He didn't know why it amused him to no end to ruffle her feathers but he'd never been the entirely serious type and he wasn't going to change that any time soon.

"Do you remember what I told you at the Lighthouse?" she asked instead, her eyes flickering towards the entrance to the Raffle again and again.

"Listen," Booker said slightly annoyed with her behavior. "I've been told a hell of a lot of things today and I almost drowned twice within twenty-four hours. That's two near-death experiences too many for my taste and –"

"It would do you good to listen to my instructions, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind interrupted him sharply. "You only have one chance to reach the tower and free the girl. Keeping a low profile is of the utmost importance and, believe it or not, as long as we are travelling together your behavior affects the both of us. I do not share your desire for daredevil actions that have a potentially high mortality rate."

He chuckled at her choice of words.

"Desire for daredevil actions, huh?" Booker smirked. "You're the one sending me on a suicide mission, lady."

He could see that she was fighting for composure.

"It would be to both our fortune if you remembered to not pick number seventy-seven," she simply replied.

"Alright, let's do this then," Booker said, taking her arm one more time and lead them down the stairs toward the singing crowd gathered in front of a giant stage.

This was going to be interesting, he thought with a side glance at the Lutece woman walking next to him. His hopes of rushing through the Raffle without drawing too much attention toward them were crushed within seconds when he saw that the gate at the other end of the plaza was closed.

They obviously had no other choice but to attend and Booker could already make out a young girl holding a basket full of white balls approaching them with a broad smile.

"Do remember what I told you," Rosalind whispered, clutching his arm tightly.

"I'll try my best," he replied. "Can't promise anything though, I can't exactly _see_ which number I'll get."

"Hey, mister! Mister!" the girl cried excitedly.

"Sorry, no sale," he tried to get rid of her, knowing fully well that she wasn't going to sell him anything.

The girl giggled. "Silly. There's never a charge for the raffle. You been sleeping under a rock?"

 _Well, carpe diem!_ He thought and took one of the balls. Turning it around, Booker almost groaned out loud when he saw the two red numbers laughing back at him.

"Seventy-seven…," he muttered.

"Seventy-seven? That's a lucky number. I'll be rooting for you," the girl said with a smile before vanishing in the crowd.

"Oh, what do you know…," Booker said, watching her go.

It was a strange coincidence that he would draw exactly the number Lutece had warned him not to pick – or was it?

* * *

 **I hope the ending doesn't appear too abrupt. I wanted to make a cut here before all the action starts.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, I tried to be faster with the next upload this time! :)**

 **This is the first real action scene I've ever written and I have absolutely no idea if I managed to do it right. There will be more bickering between Rosalind and Booker in the future, just because I enjoy writing those kinds of scenes. ;)**

 **Enjoy reading the chapter and please let me know if you liked it!**

* * *

"And now. The 1912 Raffle has officially begun!"

The voice of none other than Jeremiah Fink himself sounded above the lively chatter of the crowd.

Rosalind stayed slightly in DeWitt's shadow while observing the events with watchful eyes. No matter how often she and her brother had warned Booker not to pick number seventy-seven, the man had actually managed to successfully alert Comstock to his presence in all of their 122 previous attempts before even reaching the tower. It seemed that, despite throwing in herself as a new variable, the inevitably upcoming scene at the Raffle was a constant.

"Bring me the bowl!" Fink said cheerfully. "Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia? Ha Ha!"

Rosalind bit back a snort. She'd never understood how anyone could fall for this false and pretentious façade of his, but the man was apt at giving grand speeches and manipulating people until they danced after his pipe.

"A bit racist, that Fink fella…," DeWitt muttered next to her.

"All right then… the winner is…" Fink pulled a red card out of the bowl. "Number seventy-seven!"

"Well, what do you know?" Booker said, looking down at the white ball in his hand.

"I warned you, didn't I?" Rosalind replied in a low voice.

Booker was about to tell her to keep her unwanted comments to herself, when he heard the familiar voice of the girl with the basket shout out: "Over here! Over here! He's the winner!"

Booker gritted his teeth. He could've strangled her right there and then. The people surrounding them turned their heads to see who had won the prize of the 1912 Raffle and Bookers alarm bells went off. He already saw some big-time trouble ahead in their immediate future and without a weapon, Booker wasn't sure how far they'd come.

"Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize!" Fink said to the cheering of the crowd as Booker and Rosalind were pushed toward the stage by the eager hands of the other attendees. "First throw!"

"First throw?" Booker asked bewildered while he watched the red curtain behind Fink being slowly lifted.

He wasn't entirely sure where this was heading. Booker remembered the raffles from his youth to have prizes like candy bars or toys, first throws – whatever his target was going to be – had certainly never been part of them.

The crowd's cheering began to raise in volume: "First throw! First throw! First throw!" They were shouting excitedly and Booker couldn't believe his eyes when the stage props, some wooden bushes and tree branches, lifted and he could actually _see_ what his target was – a man and a woman, tied to two wooden stakes.

"Please… please don't do this," the woman pleaded, struggling against her chains.

"It was me," the man next to her intervened immediately, obviously trying to convince Booker to leave his wife, or whatever she was, alone. "It was all me! Please! No…"

All Booker could do was stare at the scene in front of him, completely dump-struck from what he was seeing.

 _You racist bastard,_ he thought looking back at Fink who was watching him expectantly.

"Please, what are you doing!?" the man cried desperately.

"Come on," Fink said with a nasty laugh. "Are you gonna throw it… or are you taking your coffee black these days?"

Something in Bookers mind clicked upon hearing these words.

"Let her go, please!" the man screamed again, his eyes pleading. "I'm the one you want!"

"Oh, looks like we have a shy one here!" Fink laughed when Booker hesitated to throw the ball at the two prisoners. "We've gotta do something about that!"

But Booker had already made up his mind, not even thinking about the consequences his actions could evoke. He took a tight hold of the ball in his right hand and readied himself for the throw.

"I got something for you, you son of a bitch!" he muttered and raised his hand.

Booker didn't get far when his arm was suddenly grabbed from behind, stopping him in mid-motion.

"Wait!" Fink exclaimed, his voice having changed from cheerful to a dark seriousness Booker didn't like at all.

"It's him!" He heard someone shout from behind him.

Booker struggled to get free from the firm grip the police officer, who'd suddenly grabbed him, had on him, but his colleague immediately came to the man's help.

He couldn't see where Rosalind was and didn't even have time to look for her because Fink had bent down in front of him.

"Now, where'd you get that brand, boy?" the man asked in a low voice. "Don't you know that makes you the back-stabbing, snake-in-the-grass False Shepherd? And we ain't lettin' no False Shepherd into our flock. Show him what we got planned, boys!"

It happened so fast, Booker didn't even know how he got out of the situation alive. One moment, the police officer to his left activated that strange device in his left hand ready to smash Booker's head, and the next, his partner was laying face-down on the ground, the weapon stuck in his skull. It was an ugly sight but Booker didn't have time to think about the moral correctness of what he'd just done.

To be quite honest, Rosalind had never really witnessed DeWitt in action. She might have gotten a glance at him shooting one of his many enemies, but these observations had all been from afar. She wasn't the type to enjoy bloody fights and an exceeding amount of violence. Robert, however, had always been there to 'make sure DeWitt made it through all the hassle in one piece', as he'd liked to call it.

Seeing the man defend himself so vigorously, Rosalind couldn't help but wonder what had gone wrong with the previous 122 Bookers to have failed. Perhaps this one was a little bit more determined with a stronger will for survival or, perhaps, the others had just lacked the necessary fighting skills. No matter what it was that made this Booker stand out among his other selves, Rosalind certainly had no reason to complain about him if it meant she would get to her brother mainly unharmed.

There were two things, however, that worried her. First of all, Comstock was now aware of DeWitt's, or rather their presence in Columbia and would stop at nothing to thwart their plans to save the girl. Secondly, something that worried her even more, Fink had recognized her. She'd seen the expression in his eyes when he'd spotted her standing next to Booker. Yet, he hadn't seemed surprised, merely… annoyed, one could say. As if he'd already suspected to meet her there.

"Run!"

She vaguely noticed Booker's tall frame darting past her and for the stairs that led away from the stage. She was so used to her quantum superposition that it took her a moment to realize that she was no longer able to blink in and out of existence.

Booker sprinted up the stairs. He could already hear more police forces arriving but the stage area provided absolutely no cover at all. They'd be dead in less than a minute, decorated with dozens of bullet holes like Swiss cheese.

There was an empty ticket stand that was too narrow for two people to hide behind but Booker could see a first-aid kit that could come in handy should they get injured. Instead, he made for the giant poster slightly to his left, one that showed the False Shepherd's mark again – not that he needed a reminder of it, really.

Five seconds later, Rosalind was at his side, crouching down next to him.

"You've got a plan?" He asked, looking for a way out but the Columbian forces had reacted quicker than expected, they'd already shut off this part of the city from the rest.

"A plan?" Rosalind echoed. "I do not see why you should think I have a plan."

" _You_ brought me here," Booker countered. " _You_ got me into this mess! Besides, I thought you knew your way around here…"

"Kill him!"

Booker looked around the corner of their hideout just in time to see two policemen running toward them, each holding a wooden club ready to beat the shit out of him.

"You better think of something, lady!" he shouted over his shoulder before darting out of cover.

Booker dodged the first blow and managed to hit the man's shoulder with the device that was now hooked to his left arm. The police officer stumbled backwards which gave Booker a moment plan his next step and he barely avoided the incoming attack of the second man.

This was so not what he'd expected when he'd agreed to take this job. Moving through the city as a civilian, breaking the girl out of the tower and sneaking past security with her, yes, maybe even one of two rounds of fighting – _not_ the entire military force of Columbia hard on his heels.

He groaned when one of the policemen broke through his defenses and hit him square in the stomach.

 _Damn,_ he'd forgotten how painful one-on-one combat actually was.

 _I need a pistol,_ Booker thought as he rammed his weapon straight into his enemy's neck, wincing internally at the unmistakable sound of breaking bones.

The second man came charging at him with a furious cry. The impact of the blow would have shattered Booker's skull had he not dodged it at the last second, the club hitting the ground with enough force to crack the wood at the top.

"Traitor!" the man shouted. "You shall not walk out of this alive!"

Using the officer's rage to his advantage, Booker simply continued dodging his blows until he got the opening he needed. Slipping past the other man, he struck him down with a powerful hit to the head.

There was blood covering the cobbled stones of the street and his own clothes. He was breathing heavily from the fighting and Booker was sure that a bruise had already formed where he'd been struck in the stomach.

He could see that the path seemed to continue down the right even though he had no idea where it led to, not that they had much of a choice anyway.

"Hey, Lutece!" Booker shouted over his shoulder, not caring to call her by her name. "Found our way out… I hope…"

"I'd very much prefer being addressed by my name, Mr. DeWitt," she said disapprovingly. "I'm not one of your fellow drunkards from New York. And yes, this way does seem to be our only option as of now, unless you have gained the ability to fly."

Booker suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "We'll have to work on that sense of humor of yours, _Madame Lutece_."

The sound of a gun shot made them both jump and Booker immediately dragged Rosalind behind the abandoned ticket stand, taking cover next to her. This was exactly what he'd hoped wouldn't happen – at least not this early on. If he wanted to get the upper hand, Booker either needed a way to distract the shooter or some goddamned luck to avoid being hit by a bullet.

"You shall not lead our lamb astray, False Shepherd!" They could hear the owner of the firearm shout. "The Prophet has foreseen this day would come!"

Carefully, Booker peeked around the corner. To his great relief, he could only make out a single policeman who slowly patrolled the area in search for him.

"Listen," he whispered to Rosalind. "We simply have to wait until he's close enough to take him out, preferably from behind. We gotta be fast though, otherwise we'll end up with a bullet in our heads."

Booker met her cool blue eyes with his green ones. To his surprise, the Lutece woman remained completely unfazed by seemingly everything that'd happened so far. Again, he asked himself how much she already knew. Hell, she could even be a part Comstock's complot and he could be running straight into a trap! Perhaps this was all a well-thought through plan to bring him to Columbia so this madman of a Prophet could slaughter him on the streets. The only question was, why?

Booker straightened up when the steps of the policeman were getting closer to their hideout. His plan sounded pretty solid in his head but acting it out would be more difficult than the theory part.

"Show yourself, False Shepherd!"

 _In a second, buddy, in second,_ Booker thought grimly, readying himself for the strike.

The man was almost close enough now, but he too was careful enough not to make himself much of a target.

"Come on," Booker muttered impatiently.

He barely had time to react when the man suddenly stood before him, pistol pointing straight at his face. Booker threw himself forward, reaching for the weapon to neutralize the most immediate danger but the police officer was stronger than anticipated and pressed Booker to the ground with all his weight. They continued their struggle for the upper hand, the man's other hand somehow finding Booker's throat while his right one kept a firm hold on the pistol.

"This will be your end, False Shepherd," the police office said through gritted teeth.

Booker gasped for breath, his vision getting blurry. He hadn't been fast enough, so focused on his inner monologue that he'd misjudged the distance between the Columbian policeman and himself.

Just when he thought he'd never see the light of day again, the grip around his throat lessened until it was gone entirely.

Coughing heavily, he straightened himself up to a sitting position, massaging his aching skin.

Rosalind, it seemed, had taken a wooden club from one of the fallen enemies who'd attacked them a few minutes ago and, somehow unseen by the man holding him down, had knocked him unconscious.

"Thanks…," Booker coughed, ignoring the chiding glance she gave him.

"Perhaps, Mr. DeWitt," Rosalind began coolly. "It would be to both our benefit if you concentrated more on the task at hand, not on whatever is going on in that head of yours."

She bent down to retrieve the pistol that had been pointed at Booker's face only moments ago and handed him the weapon.

"Oh, and do remember to actually _make use_ of your vigors," she continued bluntly. "They can be the difference between life and death. Now, if you'd kindly follow me, I believe we're headed in this direction."

Booker stared after her, not sure if he should be thankful for her saving his life, or strangle her for sounding a wee bit too much like his mother. Shaking his head, he followed her to the staircase he'd discovered earlier.

Things were starting to get more and more interesting the farther they got – he just had to stay alive long enough to see this mission through.

* * *

 **I hope my two protagonists are still in character. We don't really get to see too many scenes with the Luteces but I imagine Rosalind to be the bossy kind since she'd had to fight for every achievement in her life, being a woman and all.**


End file.
